Part 2 — RED BREAST
Reading edition
I saw one hanging on a tree, And O his face was sad to see,— Misery, misery me!
There were berries red upon his head, And in his hands, and on his feet, But when I tried to pick and eat, They were his blood, and he was dead;— Misery, misery me!
It broke my heart to see him there, So lone and sad in his despair; The nails of woe were through his hands, And through his feet,—ah, misery me!
With beak and claws I did my best To loose the nails and set him free, But they were all too strong for me;— Misery, misery me!
I picked and pulled, and did my best, And his red blood stained all my breast; I bit the nails, I pecked the thorn, O, never saw I thorn so worn; But yet I could not get him free;— Misery, misery me!
And never since have I feared man, But ever I seek him when I can, And let him see the wish in me To ease him of his misery.